


sing me to sleep

by PaddyWack



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 09:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14282049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaddyWack/pseuds/PaddyWack
Summary: Though he silently begs for it to change, fights to squeeze his eyes shut and will it so, the scene before him remains stubbornly absolute.He inhales on a hiss of pain. His eyes burn.





	sing me to sleep

Though he silently begs for it to change, fights to squeeze his eyes shut and will it so, the scene before him remains stubbornly absolute.

 

He inhales on a hiss of pain. His eyes burn.

 

“Oh, darling,” an oily voice croons, delighted with his sudden intrusion. “How wonderful of you to join us. Though I’m afraid you’re a little too late.”

 

Grindelwald smiles like a knife. The body slumped at his feet does not move, does not even twitch. So still, it looks as if cut from stone. Newt imagines he can feel the cold seeping from the marble-like skin, whispering across the room and piercing his own flesh. The unnatural silence is difficult to endure, and he feels nausea beginning to rise.

 

“Really, I did hope for this reunion to possess a little more…flare.” He heaves a regrettable sigh and shrugs, indifferent to the sudden roaring in Newt’s ears. “Alas, it was not meant to be.”

 

Time grinds itself to an abrupt halt. Every sound, every breath, muffled into total silence. The jagged hitches in Newt’s throat are muted and overwhelmed by the deafening howl that jars his bones from the inside. He knows then that he his screaming.

 

Though the world shrouds itself in a red mist, the broken body before him remains in stark relief. He sees stern gray eyes that are at once beautiful and fearsome. He sees them crinkle at the edges from an unexpected smile, and darken with such a passion that his knees quake. He can hear a familiar chuckle, quiet and warm, echoing throughout the broken crevasses of his heart. He can feel unsure fingers brush along the sides of his jaw and neck, at once tentative and shy, bereft of their usual confidence and unquestionable strength.

 

He can smell spicy aftershave and taste the smoky hint of whiskey on his tongue. Deaf and nearly blind, he imagines the heat spreading down his front is from the late-night fire they liked to keep, because the light would dance across a cautious face and reveal promises meant only for his own answering soul.

 

Through the storm, he hears laughter, cruel and manic. “Poor little sparrow,” Grindelwald sings. “Does it hurt so?”

 

He fights without thought, without reason, flinging his wand with a crushing desperation that steals the very breath from his lungs. His offense is wild and unchecked, visceral to the eager taunts of, “That’s it! _That’s it!_ ”. His thoughts are broken pieces of memory that stab and cut, driving him forward like a man possessed.

 

Soon, though, the gleeful peals of laughter begin to change, fading into growls of frustration. Newt presses harder. The growls become seething grunts, and, finally, a single shout of pain. Grindelwald staggers backward with a scorching shoulder and a grimace of rage.

 

“Well then,” he snarls quietly, and they both hear the telltale pops of apparition from above. “I believe it’s time for me to go. Pity. I so was looking forward to sending you on after your lover.”

 

Heaving and shaking, Newt hurls a final curse, only to see it explode against the opposite wall in a shower of sparks. Grindelwald has vanished.

 

He’s not sure how long he stands there, staring at the empty space where the madman had been. Slowly, the protective red veil begins to lift from his eyes and allow the world to tumble back into place. A small part of himself wails in protest, balking at the reality of what he is about to face. If only it were all a dream.

 

He can hear the pounding of feet and the frantic affirmative shouts as room after room of the strange castle is cleared. He turns, flinching as his boots scrape loudly against the floor.

 

For a moment, he can’t even manage to look directly at the body. Instead, his gaze locks somewhere just off to the side, childishly hoping that if he only looks from the edges of his blurry vision, the distorted image will be erased altogether. He takes one step, then two. When he is mere inches from one sprawled arm, its sleeve torn to ribbons and stained a deep, blooming crimson, he falls to his knees, as if the strings holding him upright have suddenly been cut.

 

“Open your eyes,” he pleads, and he hardly recognizes his own mangled voice. “Please. Just. How can I…?”

 

He lifts his gaze and takes in the pale, bruised skin, nearly purple beneath closed eyes. He could be sleeping, Newt thinks. Were it not for the slick puddle of blood and the hexed wounds still reeking of maleficence, perhaps it could be true. A dreadful sleep, but one he will eventually wake from.

 

Newt touches one shadowed cheek, and recoils from the ice that meets his fingertips.

 

“No,” he whispers. “No. Please.”

 

Graves does not speak or move, and Newt falls forward onto his chest. He can’t detect any hint of Graves’ aftershave, or the cloying smell of whiskey on his breath. There’s no warmth at all. Only the yawning silence that Newt feels threatening to swallow him whole.

 

He presses his face into the cold crevice of Graves’ neck – his favorite place, a protected place he’d always allowed himself to be pulled into, hidden away and safe, one hand threading through his hair and holding him steady, the other enveloping him in a lover’s embrace. He curls his fingers into the sticky lapels of Graves’ shirt, shaking from the force of the sobs that suddenly wrack his chest and nearly bowl him over completely.

 

_Help me_ , he weeps, though his words are voiceless against the freezing skin pressed to his lips. _Don’t leave me_.

 

The others burst through the door and stare in horrified silence. Newt ignores them, ignores Tina’s tremulous call, and continues to rock gently over the broken and empty body he pulls into his lap. He clings, helpless, as his own grievous wounds finally take their toll, and drag him rapidly toward unconsciousness.

 

But then.

 

There.

 

As the world swiftly darkens, as he feels himself tip, boneless, to the floor.

 

A breath tickles against his ear; faint as moth wings.


End file.
